


For Heroes Only

by Heilith



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:13:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24213472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heilith/pseuds/Heilith
Summary: Imagine messing around with Fili’s knives, accidentally hurting yourself, and him giving you a bit of a scolding + Imagine making Fili a cherry pie becaus e you know he hates apples
Relationships: Fíli/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 34





	For Heroes Only

The silence was unexpected and unpleasant.

At the very least, you could have counted on a bad language. Something that could have brought it home with you that when you’re asked to watch the weapons of your fellow, you’re not supposed to juggle them like you’d been born with a knife in your fist.

You most certainly had not.

Fili didn’t utter a thing, having walked on you red-handed, in the truest sense of the words. Red-footed, too.

He didn’t honour you with a single shake of his head, either, as he gestured for you to sit down and kneeled to pull off your boot.

At which point he pursed his lips, but still said nothing.

You were in luck, the boot - less so. The blade came through the side of it, grazing against your skin to leave a clean cut, bleeding profusely. It looked worse than it felt. Nothing you couldn’t bear.

Fili must have been aware of that. The can-do, concentrated manner in which he set to handling the injury spoke of some serious experience. His coat turned out to serve a storage for more than just a fine arsenal of steel. You couldn’t but frown, when out of nowhere he conjured a roll of cloth and a tiny bottle with some yellow liquid. 

A pack of needles came next. You panicked, drawing your foot in instinctively, but Fili caught it and made you rest it on his lap.

Your yelps and ahhs were left unanswered, as he worked on the cut stitch by stitch. There was a kind of angry ruthlessness in the way he was pulling the edges of it together and winding the bandage around your poor paw, but you had to give him a credit - by the moment he was helping you back into the boot, the pain was almost gone and you could vaguely see yourself make a full step without cringing.

“Fili, I’m sorry.”

As much as you were reluctant to start it, something told you there would be no sound from him till you spoke on your own.

“Me, too,” agreed he, restoring the first aids to where they belonged, “Should not have trusted you with these.”

“It was just an accident,” you protested, a bit less guiltily, the tone he had chosen rubbing you the wrong way.

“Was it?” 

There was nothing you could say to defend yourself. 

The knife, now clean, returned into the sheath and disappeared somewhere in Fili’s clothes, just like the rest of them. The Prince looked down on you and pressed his lips once more with a small shake of his head.

“Listen,” he kneeled before you again to put his hands over yours, carefully, like a sweet big brother, “I know you try to be useful. You’re learning. We all see that. But it will be better for us all, if someone tells you that you won’t get there. I’ve been handling these blades for years. Can you say the same about yourself? ”

“Teach me.” 

The request visibly amused Fili. His smile grew milder, yet he didn’t even try to pretend he was considering it.

“No, poppet,” refused he downright, “It’s, you know…For heroes only. And the next time I see blood on this…I don’t want it to be yours.”

You peered at him sullenly. It was not nice to hear him word all that was already clear to you without his prompts. And more so, because he didn’t hesitate, bringing it home with you.

“No offence?”

“No,” you said, but, of course, there was plenty of it. You just didn’t know where to start.

Fili laughed at your morose intonation, not in the least deceived by the answer you’d offered him.

“I was brought up to value the enchantments of shy, demure maidens. How come I’ve got,” the knuckle of his index finger brushed against your nose tenderly, “You?”

There wasn’t a splinter of a doubt you were going to regret this for days and months… For the rest of your life, or that short time till the Company and yourself walked into the dragon’s belly. 

“I don’t know,” you told him, slanting back from his touch, “Have you, Fili?”

The hand that just almost reached for your cheek, stopped, then fell back down. He somehow managed to make it look natural, heaping another insult upon your injury.

You kept silence, watching him stand up easily and check around for the knives he could have missed before.

“Don’t you worry,” he told you in a painfully commonplace tone, “We’ll cover you up.”

+++

Up, up, up. Hold up.

You cheered on yourself through the pain and exertion, dragging your legs along the open site between the stone jaws of Ravenhill.

He was so damn heavy.

Blood, blood, everywhere, it wouldn’t stop, no matter how hard his fingers were squeezing over the horrible gash in his left side. 

You had to be quick and careful. There was no way of knowing what other injuries he had suffered, beside the one that was draining the life out of him ten years in a second.

A pierced lung. A shattered spine from that fall. Bone fractures.

Your help could be killing him faster than the actual wounds.

Fili unstack his white lips, but the first sound that came out was not a moan. 

“Leave,” croaked he.

“Yeah, first thing tomorrow,” you were looking around in a frantic search of some – at least some cover. A hidey hole for one would do. Unlike him, you were still functional enough to run, when the odds came to that. 

Fili wasn’t helping it. You almost lost you balance, as he attempted to push your away.

“Leave me,” repeated he, more specific this time.

You nodded, tightening the grip on him to make certain he didn’t slip down any further. 

“Sure. Move on and shut your piehole.”

You were the one who had to hold on for two, because he’d given up every effort and let himself just hang off you. Literally a millstone over your neck, a bit lighter than that, but still too weighty. 

Your steps were getting shorter. You despaired to find a safe spot too soon. Any place was good now.

With one last labored tug you pulled him up to the nearest pile of boulders and propped him against it. It was so good to draw in a full breath again. If you could only have a moment of rest…

The heavy footfall behind you drummed in your ears, louder than your pulse. It was about time to regret you had gotten rid of every weapon you’d had on you to make the escape easier.

Although, if good luck had it, you wouldn’t have to walk a mile for a blade.

Like a tomb looter, you reached into Fili’s boot,… and swallowed down a helping of hysterical laughter, that had jumped to your throat at the sight of the knife you pulled out. An old acquaintance. The thing for heroes only.

“Forgive me if I borrow this,” you said to no one, as Fili had already passed out cold. For good, may be. At that point you couldn’t care less. You were not going to give him up, alive or dead.

Five Orcs were better than ten. Worse than none. You bit your tongue, watching a half-a-circle of the little rotters closing around you. Little… Whom were your fooling… They were giant, every single one of them.

If anything depended on you now, it was making the right choice. You had to guess which one of them was less dangerous. 

There had to be a breach in the line somewhere.

You cracked your neck, and licked your lips, and did all that other showcase stuff a proper hero would do in your place…

“This one.” 

\+ + +

“No, not this one,” you had snatched the pie from the baking sheet, before your fellow cook could have a hand on it, “It’s mine.”

“Nobody feeds poor ol’ Bombur,” rumbled he, shaking a jar of powdered sugar over the rest of them, “Poor ol’ Bombur feeds everyone.”

“Blame it on your magic hands,” you patted him on the back, smiling when he beamed into his newly grown moustache.

Happy with yourself, you cut the pie into lovely even pieces and covered the plate with a napkin. There were just too many flies in the house. Not as many as Dwarves, but then again, not all Dwarves lusted after a crumb of your efforts.

“No! No, no, no, leave this,” Bilbo’s voice was shrill somewhere in the guest hall. You couldn’t blame him. 

The hole in the ground was packed with Durin’s kin and companions so tightly that it seemed they would start popping out of the windows any moment. Some had arrived with friends and distant relatives, the others were loud and lively enough on their own to make up for a dozen of their kind. 

Gloin had towed along his whole family, a dolled-up, timid Dwarven missus and the most boisterous kid you’d ever seen, all races considered.

There were quarrels, reconciliations, songs, jigs, ruined furniture, fixed furniture, rivers of ale and mountains of best foods, gifts, and gold, and silver, and the whole harvest of apples spent on what turned out to be everyone’s favourite pies.

There happened to be just one Dwarf you didn’t see partaking in the general merriment, although you knew it for sure he, too, had come to wish the ex-Burglar a happy birthday. 

Your heart skipped more than one beat as you were making your way to the part of the house that didn’t smell like apple heaven. The study that would be. Even without the kind prompt from Bofur, you would have guessed you’d find Fili there, away from the all-permeating fruity fragrance. 

At least something about him hadn’t changed.

You had heard unpleasant things about his recovery. His failure to recover, putting it all honestly. The healers had outdone themselves to keep him alive, but the wounds were too grave not to leave the mark.

They said he had shown no will to overcome his weakness and clammed up, growing downcast and easily irritable. 

And if you hadn’t believed it before, you had to now, when the door closed behind you with a soft noise.

Fili was seated in one of Bilbo’s deep chairs, sucking on a lit pipe and resting his gaze on the peacefulness of the garden outside.

His features were sharper than you remembered, and there’s was almost nothing left of the larger than life Prince you used to be all-but-fellows with. It was safe to bet he could now pass for his uncle’s equal in age.

You stepped forward silently. It suddenly became very quiet, all the clamor cut off the small room in a blink. Fili looked away from the window and raised his brows a little as he spotted you.

“Hey, Fili.”

“Hey, champion,” responded he, breathing out a puff of sweet-and-bitter smoke. 

There was no smile as you had hoped for, yet he showed no testiness at the sight of you, either. 

“Long time, no see,” you put the plate onto the book table and settled next to it, “I reckoned you would a spare me a hello. Wishful thinking?”

“Hello,” said he calmly, “I’m glad to see you well.”

“I hope so. And you, yourself?”

The Prince shrugged, twisting his lips in a small dismissive mien.

“A wreck,” responded he, “Thank you. Are you going to eat this here?”

“No, this one is for you.”

“No way.”

“But I made it myself,” you pushed the plate closer to him, “It’s very special, Fili. You know…For heroes only.” 

He flinched and frowned, as though you had sprung an unpleasant surprise on him.

“You should look elsewhere, then,” suggested he after a moment of silence, quietly, “Try a mirror.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Liar,” teased he with a gentle smile, which disappeared as quickly as it had made itself seen.

The heirloom clock of the Tooks sighed and boomed three times, filling in the pause in your labored conversation. 

“You have a right not to accept it,” said he, still looking past you, “But I do apologize. I would have done it before, but you wouldn’t stay.”

“Alright,” despite the pang in your heart, you were determined to give him a shake, “Have a piece, and we’re even.”

Fili shook his head.

“No. I’m sorry. I’m sure it’s good, but no.”

The pie was growing cold, and so were your resolve and courage. It had been so much easier in your head, as always. 

“Fili. I saved your life. I dragged you on my back one hundred and one mile. I almost busted a gut. You’re hurting my feelings here.”

“You don’t mean it,” said he wearily. 

You could abandon the game any moment, but something was making you hold onto it stubbornly. And so you tried again.

“Say what, Fili. One bite. One wish.” 

The pipe stopped halfway to his lips. 

“What kind of?” asked he in completely changed voice.

“Any. Any reasonable one,” you altered, seeing his eyes narrow immediately. 

Fili studied you without a hint of a smile, clearly gauging how serious you were. 

“Taking the fun out of it, aren’t you?” asked he finally, “Wish first?”

“Oh, no…” you wagged a finger at him, “No bargaining here, my sweet Prince.”

“I beg you humbly?”

His puppy eyes were a perfection, a nice change from the gloom and sadness, but you didn’t relent.

Fili sighed.

“I’ll see if you keep smiling when I belch into your mouth,” muttered he, “Bring it on.”

“Close your eyes,” you ordered him, “And bite.”

Eyelids shut tightly, Fili shrugged and bit into the slice with a half-resigned, half-disgusted air.

As the pie was crumbling apart on his tongue, a wide smirk spread across his face. He lounged back in the chair and growled with pleasure, making quite a show of chewing through the tiny piece, which you had managed to stuff into him. 

“Cherry,” purred he on a deep happy note, “I should have known…You sold yourself for nothing, milady.”

“I don’t think so.”

The last word was barely out of your mouth, and you were already in his arms, clasped to him in the embrace, which, at any other circumstances, you would consider too hard. Your lips met eagerly, and he tasted like cherry and the best tobacco in the Shire, with the weakest finish of blood – just your imagination, probably…who cared…

“I love you,” whispered he between the kisses, “I missed you. And I want my prize.”

“Aren’t you getting it?” you asked, breathless.

His lap was an extremely comfortable place to settle on.

“If you call Balin, I’ll make sure I will.”

“Balin?”

You were quite certain Balin was the last person who could help him, or any of you.

“Our marriage contract won’t write itself.”

“Our marriage contract?” quite outraged, you smacked him on the chest. He caught up your hand to kiss it tenderly, “I’m not marrying you, Fili! I thought you would ask for a kiss!”

“One bite, one wish, my hero. I’m still a Dwarf,” whispered he into your palm, his moustache tickling you more than a little bit, “Why haggle for a gem, when you can have the whole treasury?”


End file.
